The Australian business tycoon Kerry Packer, who has died aged 68 following a long period of ill health, loved gambling, whether in the boardroom or the casino. In doing so, he transformed a magazine and television business worth millions into a diversified enterprise worth billions, became his country's richest person and, in the late 1970s, gained a lasting reputation as the man who transformed cricket, making the one-day international an established feature of the sport. In the words of the former Australian captain and commentator Richie Benaud, "It's because of what happened then, cricket is so strong now".

One of Packer's executives once said that despite his copious wealth, "KP" was, in fact, just like the average Aussie bloke. Kerry did not read books, he said, but watched plenty of television, swore like a trooper and loved gambling, sport and having fun with the boys. He could be incredibly abrasive and then extraordinarily compassionate.

In some ways the magnate's "ocker" tastes were the secret of his success, with a populist magazine empire and television network that frequently outperformed their rivals. But his burning desire was to make even more money; his fortune grew more than five times after he supposedly gave up business in 1987, and a ferocious sense of privacy set him well apart from most of his readers and viewers.

With wealth came power, and Pack- er's close connections with politicians, especially the former Labour prime minister Bob Hawke, ensured that the Canberra government's media policy often went his way. While in office, Hawke signed off a testimonial video for his mate with the words "Good on yer, Kerry, you've been true blue [loyal]."

Packer believed that people could be bought. In 1976, before he pulled off perhaps his greatest coup in establishing World Series Cricket, he was stuck in talks with the Australian Cricket Board about television rights to Test matches. "Come gentlemen," he said, "there is a little bit of the whore in all of us; name your price."

He also liked to win, especially at gaming tables around the world, where tales of his successes, losses and extraordinary tips are legendary. He reportedly lost £8m playing blackjack in London in 1987, then won £10m at the same game in Las Vegas eight years later. Tales of tips to hostesses and waitresses of £50,000 also abounded.

Yet Packer's one weakness was his health. His biographer Paul Barry said males in the Packer dynasty loved a bet, hated paying tax, were excessively secretive and tended to die young with heart trouble. On all counts Kerry was no exception, and was aware he was living on borrowed time. In 2004, Business Review Weekly magazine estimated his fortune at A$6.5bn (£2.75bn), and financial markets were always keenly interested in his state of health. In June 1998, rumours of his death swept world markets and the share price of his listed media company, Publishing and Broadcasting, fell. The Big Man, as he was known at his TV network Channel Nine, was in fact alive and well and living in London's Savoy hotel, where he regularly spent the polo season.

Packer, the unrepentant smoker, was said to have been annoyed at the rumours. But in October 1990 he had suffered a near-fatal heart attack during the Australian Open polo championships in Sydney. He was clinically dead for six minutes before being revived by ambulance officers. Typically, he went on to buy portable defibrillators - which quickly became known as Packerwhackers - for every ambulance in New South Wales. His charitable gifts were usually as generous as they were anonymous, and the episode gave rise to the most quoted of his rare public remarks, when he told an interviewer: "Son, I've been to the other side, and let me tell you, there's nothing there."

His father, Sir Frank Packer, was a former boxer and goldminer who built up a publishing empire in the knockabout Sydney of the 1930s. Kerry and his brother Clyde were born into financial and social privilege, but their family life left much to be desired. Raised by a nanny, they were sent to a boarding school just down the road from the family mansion. From the age of five until nine, Kerry saw his mother Gretel perhaps half a dozen times, though some of this dislocation was admittedly due to a bout of polio that meant nine months in an iron lung and two years in Canberra with a private nurse.

Once back at school, he was a lonely child who suffered from dyslexia and had an undistinguished academic career. Both brothers then joined the family business, Consolidated Press: Clyde was clearly the favourite of their tyrannical father, and went on to become managing director of Channel Nine; meanwhile, Kerry, who was referred to as a "boofhead" by his father, was not taken seriously. Then, in 1972, Clyde split from the family and its business, going to live in California until his death in 2001, and, in 1974, Sir Frank himself died of heart failure.

Thus at the age of 37, Kerry took over the business empire, ironically handling the reins of power with aplomb. Money and its generation became the mark of his self-esteem and ambition. Apart from media interests, there were profits from property development, leisure industries such as skiing, and outback cattle properties estimated to cover an area larger than Belgium.

However, Packer's finest hour came in 1977 with the establishment of his own World Series Cricket, after he was denied the television rights to the game by the Australian Cricket Board. Because of the players' coloured flannels, it was dismissively known by the old school as pyjama cricket, but it helped to bring the game up to date and established Packer as a world influence in sport.

In 1984 came perhaps his darkest moment, after the arch-rival Fairfax Press published damaging leaks from a royal commission report about a crooked, wealthy businessman codenamed Goanna (a generic name for various Australian lizards), involved in drug trafficking and other criminal activities. Packer, who according to Barry was shattered by the innuendo, identified himself as the Goanna but denied the allegations. He was officially cleared but was deeply hurt by the experience.

His luck turned in 1987 when Alan Bond, the now-disgraced Australian businessman, offered him A$1bn for the Nine Network, about twice its worth. Packer accepted, became seriously rich and decided to have some fun. He lost weight and took to polo in his late 40s with the enthusiasm of a man half his age, putting millions of pounds into the game in England, Australia and Argentina, and spending up to five months a year on the international polo circuit. In 1990, he bought the Nine Network back from Bond for A$200m and proudly admitted: "You only get one Alan Bond in your lifetime."

Packer never shared Rupert Mur- doch's ambitions for a global media empire, and did not succeed in the family's long-term aspirations to take over Fairfax, the publisher of the profitable Sydney Morning Herald and Melbourne Age newspapers. But like the many successful sportsmen he admired, he had a developed sense of timing, and knew when to get in and out of investments to maximise his return.

In 1995 he had a second heart attack, and in 2000 received a kidney from his friend and helicopter pilot Nick Ross. But eventually his lifelong gamble with life gave out. He might have had an unhappy childhood, but he was a family man, especially close to his son James, who took over the businesses in 1996. He also leaves his wife Roslyn, whom he married in 1963, and daughter Gretel.

Mike Selvey writes: Kerry Packer's rival World Series Cricket circus was a ruthless move which was to leave indelible marks on the game, both good and bad. By recruiting the best players in the world - including England captain Tony Greig, Australia captain Greg Chappell and West Indies captain Clive Lloyd - for substantially increased rewards, and setting up in direct opposition to official cricket, Packer totally disrupted the international system. After winning a seven-week high court case that started in September 1977, he put on his first supertest, between Australia and the Rest of the World, in December, and subsequent matches also featured a West Indies side.

The following season came the floodlights, coloured clothing, white ball, black sight-screens and hype of cricket's first day-night game. Six floodlight towers were built around the Sydney cricket ground, and 50,000 spectators came. But after 1978-79 it was all over. By then, Packer had secured for three years the television rights he wanted, and then a 10-year deal to market the game in Australia: he had no further need of World Series Cricket.

Yet the influence remains. While upsetting traditionalists, one-day international cricket now makes the coins clink, attracting large crowds. Packer revolutionised the coverage of the game on television. And he provided the catalyst that improved the lot of the player in what had become an exceedingly smug game.